


Dispatches

by KH2024



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Lesbian Sex, Light Bondage, Medical Trauma, The Homestuck Epilogues: Candy, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 02:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21219038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KH2024/pseuds/KH2024
Summary: Assignment: "Candy Epilogue Resistance setting- Night before a battle. Rose and Kanaya are assigned to the same unit for the first time in a sweep, but the next battle’s odds are grim. A couple flashbacks of their training together, battle scenes, difficult command decisions, and all throughout they always supported each other. They spend the night together aware it might be the last time. Sex optional. Bonus points if Swifer shows up at some point."Which about sums it up.





	Dispatches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TinyAngryPuppy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyAngryPuppy/gifts).

“_I Dont Know Why You Had To Shave.”_

_The silky golden locks so familiar in profile had vanished, replaced by a standardized buzz cut. Her tongue ticks against the back of her teeth, scowling ruefully. Running her hands against your nearly nude scalp cause pinpricks of shorn hair to tickle her wrists, parting before her cool palms._

“_It's the same everywhere”, you answer, riding the line between endearing and teasing. “Besides, this will certainly put a dent in your hair pulling habits.”_

_Jade blush. You adore the blush, the look of panic hidden beneath mounting admonishment. It fades faster after years of encouraged surfacing, but it was still there. Almost worth the bad haircut, if you were being honest with yourself._

“_Youre The One Attempting Anonymity And Im Not Sure That Seducing Your Superior Officer-”_

"_Seducing? I would have argued playful banter, but-”_

"_Shh...”_ _ her finger interrupts the thought as another recruit rounds the corner, squeezing between the gap in the wall behind you. Breathing slows, conspiratorially. Resumes... professionally. Her eyelids droop slowly, oh so slowly as she watches the echoing footsteps pass by you both._

“_I wouldn't say superior.”_,_ you whisper._

_The blush again. _

_You run your fingertips along the brass insignia on her uniform, cool metal etched across probing fingers, warming to your body temperature before cutting into your palm as you press her against the bulwark. The metal sears into your hand, almost as hot as her breath on your neck._

“_Laying Hands On An Officer Is A Crime Recruit”_ _ she purrs, trilling the vowel softly before flicking her tongue against the skin of your neck. “I Could Have You Locked Away.”_

_Her breath is heavy. These moments of rarefied air are everything, pure and primal, the heat of her gaze searing into your flesh as the points of her teeth graze you neck deeper than you had imagined possible_

* * *

“16%”

The Seer paused, adjusting her posture slightly before tasting the corners of the mouth. Dry, chapped again, at least an hour if not more. She leaned back in her chair, removing the lightweight headphones and rubbing her eyes, before running her hands through the gray that highlights her temples. It was longer than it should have been, given the circumstances, but the chances of her getting a haircut were almost as bad as-

She smirked, realizing she was in the middle of one of her dramatic turns. All eyes were on her, so to speak: the Communication center was a crypt, each technician holding their breath lest the slightest movement of ambient air affect the future. They knew better, but superstition ran deep. The council was missing two seats, but quorum held with the remaining five.

Her hands are always leaden and tingly afterward, like circulation was cut halfway through. A glass of water appeared as though conjured, and she hastily hydrated while the reaction splinters between factions. Fuck; as if it wasn’t hard enough to coach these children to save themselves, they had to bicker the entire time. It was exactly the outcome they had worked for, but she certainly didn't have to appreciate the reality imagined by her past self now that she was the one enduring it.

Oh, damn. One of the turns again. She should be paying attention.

“LEAVE.”

It was an unexpected respite, given the situation, but the Seer knew better than to argue. She nodded at the duo to her left, and then to their matching parallel. They vanished before her chin waggled a second time, giving her just long enough to collapse pitifully into her chair. A migraine began encroaching on the territory normally inherited by a post prediction hangover, and she knew well enough to draw the pull-strings on her hood tighter around her so as to cut the light off at the pass.

The water in the depths of the glass sloshed at the tremors reverberating from the walls of the briefing hall, each new curse and swear rebounding in perfect harmony with the expletive before it. The Commander was nothing if not a four letter muse.

“AND WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SMILING AT?!” He shouted, before perching in his pseudo-throne.

It was a remnant of a gaming chair Dave had purchased decades ago, long since retrofitted with lumbar, communication, and snack support that the Commander of the resistance deemed fit. It existed as the oldest piece of equipment in the room, a reinforced, duct-taped reminder of better times that Vantas barely tolerated anymore. His muscles bulged at the seams of his uniform, and had a bad habit of chafing his neck when he screamed. It was uncanny, like he flexed the grey flesh into a form fitting noose of authority despite how many inches were added. It reminded her of a toad; bilious at the very least. She smiled earnestly at her old friend, rotating her barely touching thumb and first finger around an imaginary axis in a simulacrum of how much he should tone the fucking shouting down. Like, at least by ten or so notches.

“I would repeat myself, but your advisers seemed to have worked up the appropriate amount of panic given the current situation.” The sound of her voice was dryer than she was expecting.

“WELL WHAT A FUCKING SHOCK. PANIC? AT LESS THAN ONE FIFTH ODDS? I SHOULD KILL THEM ALL WHERE THEY STAND FOR BEING SUCH REASONABLE FUCKING ASSHOLES, ROSE.” He rose from the chair, stabbing the holographic display for emphasis. Simulated armies exploded and reformed with each finger stab, making a mess of the previously ordered intelligence report.

“That's not helping,” she mutters pulling her knees in tight to her chest. “Besides, we've come out the other side of worse.”

It was a lie. She knew it as it left her lips, bitter and cloying. She hated how hopeful it sounded, almost as much as she feared the vitriol in his response that she knew would-

“SORRY.”

Wait.

“I KNOW. IT'S WHAT WE HAVE. THANK YOU.”

He knew better than that. She knew that he knew, that he would have done the research, that this use of her powers was a near formality at this point. Karkat Vantas was a master strategist after years of unrelenting guerrilla warfare, and he summoned his Seer only when the chips could fall where he specifically deigned them to may. He had never apologized, unless he-

“I NEED YOU TO TAKE AN ASSIGNMENT.”

Well then. This should be interesting. She stretched out of her hoodie, allowing the LEDs of the room to pierce the veil as she regarded him. She had aged better, far better than the troll perched delicately before her. It wasn't exactly a fair comparison, she knew, but the petty slice of her personality took pride in how much better she had weathered both rearing a child and a resistance movement. He had lost an eye, a lover, and many more years than he was due, but it was all coming to a head. One in six. A roll of the dice.

* * *

“What Can I Do For You Commander?” she said, enjoying the flavour of the title on her lips. It wasn't without irony, of course. But, Karkat straightened with enough grace that despite the years of leadership, no one outside the inner circle would be in on the joke. Kanaya considered this, and nibbled on her lower lip enough to break the skin. A bad habit, she knew, but she would be damned if anyone would correct her of it. Karkat regarded her with a searing gaze: a look that had sealed the fate of thousands, but she weathered it with a practiced compliance. This was not the moment for private objection, no. It seemed Mr. Vantas was in need of theatrics.

“CLEAR THE ROOM.” He muttered, loud enough to shake the projected casualty screens. Kanaya shared a brief look of concern with the medical staff, and nodded slowly. The eye roll that accompanied the room clearing was nearly as loud as the request, but the Commander managed to keep it in check. She gestured at the waste of space around her; nursing stations, traction wards, blood transfusion reassignment probes. It was the B.P.R.T techs that would make this mild interruption a real pain in the ass, given the relative immediacy of the technology and training that-

“16 PERCENT.”

It was a statement, an objection to a fact that he would really rather that she disagree with. Perhaps she could provide an answer, or a reason that Rose would place the odds so low. In fact, Kanaya knew that the real odds were nowhere near such an arbitrary resonant fraction; that's not how fate played its cards. But she would force the smile. It would creep slow, and she would feel the pointed teeth dig into the wound on her lower lip.

“Yes And” she said. It was a safe answer.

“WHAT IN THE FUCK, MARYAM?”

It was not a good answer. She sighed, patting the seat beside her. Open the drawer, take out the blood pressure cuff. Close her eyes, count to ten.

At least he had the good grace to sit down before pouting. Inflate the cuff, listen to the beat. Shush, pap the arm. It's a pattern, years in the making. Rose would call it staccato, but it was the half beat faster than his normal rate. She paused, updating the chart with her free hand before watching him squirm. It was a slow process, and he tended to flex harder as the time wore on, as if the sheer effort in remaining still would give her the answers required to stop the process. She drew a blood sample, and decided against making a show of tasting it. It had long since grown dated as a joke, and he certainly was not in the mood.

She finally relented, allowing him to regain a smidgen of the decorum that he would insist he did not deserve. You can take the troll out of the meteor, put his face on posters, and have thousands die to protect the cause he represents, but he would still martyr himself than suffer a mild social indignity.

“Yes And It Was Exactly What You Expected It Would Be” She said, sitting down next to him. “A Slim Chance For A Better Future. Who Do You Have Leading The Mission”

He met her eyes, then. The silence grew heavier, and she couldn't help but laugh.

“Well Then I Suppose I Should Get Dressed For The Occasion”

* * *

“_You need to stop adjusting the dressings, or it'll never clot properly.”_ _ She tightens the gauze band, sending a lightning bolt up your side. Her hands are stained jade and brown from the field patching, wedding band sticky with the colors of a forest floor. The lights flicker for the fifth time you can remember, shock-waves from a structural collapse somewhere else in the ghetto. You lean back, letting her fuss as a way of passing the time._

“_How Long?”_ _ You gasp, cringing at the sound of pain in your own voice. You take stock of her as she considers the response; bags under her eyes, chewed nails, bruising on the back of her wrists and upper arms. She stripped to her mid-drift some time ago, not wanting cross contamination from her clothing while she bandaged you up. An ugly purple bruise the maps the curve of her collar bone, dappled with sweat. It must have been baking in this enclosed space, but you don't notice the heat. Probably a bad sign._

“_About twelve hours.”_ _ Rose answers. Shelling grows louder outside the room, drumming bits of dust from the top of the faded windowsill. “We established communications and made the supply drop, but lost four. That was when you-” _

_The lights cut out, leaving you both in the quiet illumination of your skin. Strange shadows ripple across her face and chest, the soft glow shielded by your bandages as she leans in close._

“_I thought I had lost everything.”_ _ She whispers._

_Her kiss tastes of sweat and salt; you don't remember who started to cry first. Her cheeks are damp, and her breathing grows desperate as she kisses harder, tasting your lips and tongue, breathing in the scent of the woman she had nearly lost. As if by tasting, by loving you in this moment, she could destroy the guilt of imagining you ever gone. You groan as her weight shifts, and she suddenly remembers herself._

_“Oh, shit! I'm so sorry.”__ She retreats quickly with an embarrassed smile. You match it, bringing a hand to her cheek. You aren't dead yet._

* * *

Rose hummed softly to herself as she knitted, purling with a practiced ease. She supposed it would end up being another scarf or something, but it acted as more of a time-sink than anything purposely fashionable. At almost four feet long, she could have cast it off at any time in the past hour and felt satisfied with the effort, but it kept her from thinking about which child Karkat would send in through that door to act as her second in command. Oh, damn. She poked herself with the dull needle as castigation for the thought; she was being petty again. But they were all so young, children was how she would always think of them. Swifer had taken control of the breeding duties ever since Kanaya had grown into a larger leadership role for the resistance, and generations had been bred into a world of chaos and bitter strife. How long many would die today if she failed? Hell, if she succeeded?

“Well aren't you just a bucket of sunshine and rainbows this evening”, she chuckled darkly to herself.

“Whats So Funny?”

The needles slip, poking her fingertips sharply as she looks up at the doorway. Kanaya smiles coyly, caught in the act of surprise before crossing the room faster than Rose can get out of her chair. They collide happily, easing into a long overdue embrace.

“Darling! When did you-”

“Just Now. Ive Been Assigned To The Intercept”

Rose laughed at the thought, tears threatening to well as she finally noticed the other figure in the door, smiling awkwardly at the reunion.

“You shouty asshole! You could have given me some warning.” Rose said.

“He Was Worried You Would Make A Reasonable Suggestion Like Not Sending Us Both On A Suicide Mission. Selfish, Isnt He?”

“RIGHT? FUCK ME FOR SUPPRISING YOU BOTH WITH A HEARTWARMING REUNION BASED AROUND A DOOMED PLAN.”

“Karkat, we're having a lovely moment over here. Go inspire someone else.” A knitting needle careened delicately through the air in his general direction, and he closed the door to give the couple some privacy.

“It's been over a year.” Rose breathed heavily, enjoying the weight of her wife's form pressed against her own.

“Well Half A Sweep If You Want To Be Accurate” Kanaya says, smoothing out the pleating on Roses jacket. 

“Shush.” Their foreheads touch and they close their eyes, enjoying the comfort of silent proximity. Rose moves first, running a hand across her lover's jaw, a callused fingertip brushing the sore on Kanaya's lower lip. She huffs, and her wife laughs, years of mild argument boiled down into monosyllabic patter.

“We talked about that. It's a bad habit.”

“Ive Had Worse.”

“That makes two of us.” Rose parts her lips and kisses the wounded spot, tugging it softly with her teeth before giggling. “There, kissed it better. I think that's the current operating procedure for things our wives do that we find mildly irritating?”

“I Must Admit I Have Yet To Read That Publication”

“Well in that case, I think some education is in order.”

They grinned, surveying their options. It was a modest vestibule consisting of a desk, chair, telescreen and couch off in the corner. An away bag containing equipment and clothing was its current occupant, and the drapes were already closed to the evening air.

The bag was hastily moved. The couch protested quietly at first, then groaned loudly at the acrobatics that were obviously not intended for such an unassuming piece of furniture.

* * *

It held admirably, all things considered. Minor creaking was to be expected, especially given the fact that the scarf Rose had been knitting found new life as a gag, wrist restraints, and slightly ineffective blindfold. The couch cushions eventually joined their clothes on the floor, and the furniture was abandoned entirely in favour of a roomier horizontal locale. Rose sighed happily, months of stress evaporating in the post coital bliss of a closed, stuffy room.

“Fuck,” she cooed. Kanaya's response was equally short and satisfied, punctuated with the lazy wrapping of an outstretched leg around her wife's thigh. The soft skin sent a shiver of friction to the back of Rose's neck, threatening to escalate the situation from exhausted bliss to tongue drenching depravity.

“I Think Your Scarf Is Ruined.” Kanaya said, draping the stretched, dampened fabric across them both. The soft wool cascaded down her curves, and she picked at one end of the never to be worn accessory. Rolling over, pinning the cloth between their bodies as she tickled the end of Rose's nose with a lose piece of yarn before kissing the spot. Spluttered protests could barely hope to deter such an offensive, and they fell about laughing, hands exploring familiar scars and age lines.

“That's not the only thing,” Rose winced, flexing her jaw and popping a vertebrae. She paused mid-stretch, as an unfamiliar bead of moisture crept across her chest. A ring of warm, aching, tenderness across her left breast caught her attention, and she looked down in mock horror. “Maryam, I'm bleeding.”

Kanaya blushed, laughing at the stony expression across her lover's face. She slithered upright, leaning in close to examine the love bite.

“Well Yes That Tends To Happen When You Demand I 'Do It Harder' To Borrow A Phrase.” Her tongue flicked out, smearing the pinpricks of blood that formed the indiscreet ring. Rose moaned softly, running her hands through Kanaya's hair.

“Don't you throw sexy Rose's words back at me, we both know she's not to be trusted,” Rose felt the creeping warmth spread from Kanaya's tongue, and snorted when Kanaya raised her scarf-bruised wrists as evidence to the contrary. She kissed the rope marks softly. “Case in point.”

She rotated Kanaya's hand, sucking on her ring and index finger in turn before guiding it south. More pressing matters, after all.

Rose's gasps were caught expertly by Kanaya's open mouth, and the love bites became the least of her worries.

* * *

“_You seem nervous.”_

“_Why Wouldnt I Be?”_

“_Last I heard, you were the unstoppable vampiric matriarch of countless bloodthirsty monsters.”_

“_As The Only Person That The Adjective Bloodthirsty Could Literally Apply I Find Its Absence In Your Personal Attack Ironic.”_

“_I'll keep that in mind for my next ad hominem, dear.”_

“_...”_

“_...”_

“_Were Things Always This Grim?”_

“_Yes, but we were occupied with selfish flights of fancy like creating a new universe and homicidal chess men. Comparatively, this should be a cake walk.”_

“_I Don't Want To Lose You.”_

“_Well I have good news; rebel warfare tends not to be Just, and I can't say this feels very Heroic.”_

“_Liar.”_

“_I love you too.”_

_It was true, and that was more than enough._

_Walking out into the night together, they struck out to meet their team. Under equipped, ill-rested, content. _

_It was time to roll the dice once again._


End file.
